


Hidden

by RitaM



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RitaM/pseuds/RitaM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack doesn't know how to ask and she's not making it easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden

Jack doesn't know how to ask, and she's not making it easy.

To his general surprise, conducting a romance with Phryne Fisher proves to be quite easy. True to form, their dalliances resemble their frequent verbal sparring; she is an unmitigated tease, and he loves it, loves to turn tables on her. Playfulness was something that he re-discovered in himself; prior to meeting Phryne, he'd have said it was gone altogether.

One side effect is, he is reliving his teenage years. His libido - wilted throughout the war, frozen during marriage - returns with a vengeance, and Phryne's tendency to want everything-right-now is most decidedly not. Helping. Whenever they're not spending the night together, he ends up in the shower, hands furious, mind dancing with images of things they'd done, things they'd do, things he'd love. He's shocking himself, walking around in a daze and it takes inhuman focus to stop the constables snickering in corners of the station.

It's a constant game of one-upmanship, and he loves it. Phryne is outspoken, uninhibited and seductive. Jack matches her caress for caress, blown away by his own desire, but there are things he can't say, still, can't ask for: his lover is so experienced, that he feels funny and small whenever he tries, tongue big in his mouth as if he were sixteen. She speaks sex like a language and he feels ashamed of the struggle.

Her eyes follow him across the bedroom one evening, and he fidgets, squares his shoulders. When she comes up, languid, stroking her fingers up his tie, he kisses her, mind burning. The tie goes across her eyelids, as her eyelashes flutter in surprise. Maybe without her looking, judging, he can get what he wants.

She lets him. Dress pools at her feet, underwear absent, and he pushes her gently on the bed. She goes willingly, and when he crawls over her prone body, she stretches her arms to him. He kisses her hands and stays where he is, heart racing, shrugging off the jacket, shirt still buttoned. He pays tribute to her breasts, her belly, fingers climbing up her thighs, and when he finally lowers his mouth to her, she shudders, grabbing his hands. Their fingers tangle as he learns her lick by lick, nuzzle by nuzzle, guided by shivers and sighs that give way to moans. It's rare that she's nonverbal, but tonight she is, and it touches something in him, to see her so pliant, so ready, trusting. When her body seizes, their harsh breathing is the only sound in the suddenly quiet room.


End file.
